Dark Triumph (His Fair Assassin #2)(21)
Author: Robin LaFevers

Chapter Eleven

D’ALBRET AND HIS MEN HAVE not yet returned from Ancenis when we retire for the evening. I wait for what feels like an eternity for Jamette and Tephanie to undress me and prepare me for bed. The fact that Jamette chatters like a nervous magpie does not help the time go by quicker. At long last, they finish their fussing and take their leave.

When I am finally alone, I go to my chest and look among my few poisons for one that is both swift and merciful, but I have none. Some are gentle but work slowly, and those that work quickly, cause too much pain and discomfort to be used for a merciful killing.

Instead, I remove my favorite knife and a sharpening stone, then go sit by the fire and begin sharpening the blade. I still do not know if the prisoner can sit a horse, or ride one, or if he is even conscious. If he is not, he will be of no use to the duchess. Not unless she can use his dead, martyred body to incite loyalists to take up arms.

He will not be marqued, but I no longer care about that.

It used to scare me, the idea of killing without a marque from Mortain to guide my hand, but now, stepping outside His grace holds no more fear for me. Especially since what little I know of that grace has been harsh. My biggest fear has always been that once I began killing at my own whim rather than Mortain’s, I would become no better than d’Albret. But over the past few days, I have begun to wonder if being the daughter of Death is any different than being the daughter of a cruel, sadistic murderer. There is little enough difference that I can see, so better to make my own choice in this, the one I think will do the most good.

The nuns’ warnings for the fate of my soul rise once more in my mind, but what the fool nuns did not realize is that my life is already a living hell, so trading one form for another is not so great a deterrent.

When a full hour has passed, I dress and collect the supplies I have selected. In addition to the night whispers and the newly sharpened knife, I arm myself with two other knives and a garrote bracelet as well as my lethal crucifix. If the knight must die tonight, then I will go immediately from the dungeon to d’Albret’s chamber, where it will be easy enough to gain access with him gone. Once there, I will simply lie in wait for him. Even he must sleep sometime. And when he does, I’ll make my move.

I will most likely not survive the attempt, but at least I will have tried, and surely that will prove that the darkness that lives in him does not live in me.

It is not the sort of escape I have prayed for, but it is an escape.

When I reach my door I pause just long enough to feel a faint throb of a heart beating steadily on the other side. Is it Jamette with her constant spying? Or some new guard my father has posted?

I quickly prepare a half a dozen lies and excuses, then open the door.

It is Tephanie. She is rolled up tightly in her cloak, like a sausage in its casing, sleeping outside my door.

I scowl down at the foolish girl, but while her presence is puzzling, she is easily enough dealt with if she discovers me. I close the door softly behind me, then step over her and make my way down the stairs to the main floor. Sensing no guard or sentry, I step out into the night.

The moon is nearly full and shines down onto the palace courtyard with the light of a thousand candles. My heart slams against my ribs as a shadow flies overhead, then swoops in among the trees in the outer court. An owl. It is only an owl, hunting for its dinner.

I wait a moment to be certain the movement has not caught anyone’s attention, then skirt along the palace wall toward the old tower. I am filled with an unfamiliar calm. I know in my heart that what I am planning is the right thing to do. The sensation is as welcome as it is unfamiliar. This time, my hands are steady as I remove the key from the small pouch at my waist and then fit it to the lock.

There is a satisfying snick as it turns and I send a heartfelt thank-you to the cautious silversmith and his skill. As soon as I step inside, I am swarmed by the spirits of the tower, their icy presence chilling me to the bone.

Hugging the crumbling wall for support, I descend until I come to the second door. The key works here, too, and then I am standing in front of the final door. I move to the side, out of the line of the jailor’s sight. I can hear him shuffling across the floor, muttering unintelligibly to himself.

When I am certain that he is not near the door, I slowly bring my face up to the grille and peer in. If I could get close enough to his ale pot, I could drop some of my own sleeping draft into it, but it is too far from the door. My only choice is to call him over and use the night whispers powder. With my hood pulled low he will not be able to recognize my face when he wakes up. I cannot help but wonder if I am truly doing him a favor by not killing him outright. There is a good chance d’Albret’s wrath will fall on him if the prisoner is found dead, and the punishment will be swift and brutal.

Unless the prisoner is well enough to travel. Then all the jailor will have is a groggy head. At least until my next visit to break the knight out.

Just as I pull the twist of night whispers from my wrist sheath, there is the scrape of a boot on the stairs behind me. I glance around the antechamber, but there is no place to hide. I shove the packet back in its hiding place, grab the handle of my knife, and whirl around to face the stairs.

The tall, dark figure scowls in disbelief. “Sybella?”

Merde! It is no mere guard or sentry, but Julian. He takes three silent strides toward me and grabs my arm. “What are you doing here?” Behind the anger, I see true fear in his eyes.

“You’re back.” The joyful lilt in my voice is so convincing that even I almost believe it. I smile coquettishly. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I searched until I thought to check the one place you should not be.” He gives my arm a little shake. “You cannot imagine the danger you have put yourself in.”

“I could not sleep for the rattle and clank of the ghosts. Did you know this tower is haunted?”

“You could hear the sounds of haunting all the way from your chambers?” His eyes are wide with disbelief.

“Of course not.” I glance out from under my lashes. “I came to the chapel to pray for your safe return. That’s when I heard the rattling.”

The harsh planes of his face relax slightly. “While I appreciate your prayers, you have put yourself in harm’s way, prying where you should not.”

“How was I to know my prayers would be answered so quickly?” I smile, as if with true gratitude. Then I grow serious once more. “Ghosts, Julian. Can you feel them?” I allow a shiver to rack my body—easy enough with the chill of all the unquiet dead clinging to me like a mantle and so much fear coursing through me. I make certain to put a sparkle of excitement in my eyes. “Ghosts of all the prisoners who have died here, unshriven.” There is a faint rattle of chains just then, the first I have heard from the prisoner all night. I clutch at his arm. “There! Did you hear it? They could sneak into our rooms at night and suck the souls from our bodies.” I cross myself for good measure.